


Strawberries

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Mpreg, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-10
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 11:13:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12680739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: After Lindir’s heat, Elrond finds something different in his scent.





	Strawberries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [avocado_bros_4thewin (mkblitz)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mkblitz/gifts).



> A/N: This is a gift for mrpineapple42, who donated to no-kill animal shelters for my [karma commissions drive](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/post/167176922380/karma-commissions) and requested “Elrondir a/b/o or mpreg(bc preggers Lindir would be hilarical)”.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or The Hobbit or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

He wakes from pleasant dreams into the warm, sticky mess that is his lover’s nest, one meticulously arranged but now tattered from the throes of passion. Lindir’s low borders surround the entire circumference of Elrond’s mattress, the knit-together walls of sheets and discarded robes even padded against the headboard. Elrond managed to rescue two pillows for them, and he had to put one under Lindir’s head himself, for when the heat takes him, Lindir spares little thought to anything. He spent all of yesterday buried in Elrond’s arms, tugging at Elrond’s robes and kissing Elrond’s skin. It’s no surprise now to find an aftermath of soreness and dampness, but it was worth every moment. Elrond first basks in the memories, than turns his eyes to Lindir. 

Curled tight against him, Lindir’s still lost in sleep. His long lashes rest against his red cheeks, only a little less flushed now than they were for most of yesterday. His trim, gracefully body is all on display—all peach-pink skin bared for the taking. He tore at any clothes Elrond tried to put on him. In the cloud of warmth that still permeates the bed, Elrond wonders why he bothered. He’d thought to keep Lindir from the night’s chill, but it seems Lindir was his own furnace, and the pale beams of sunlight that stream in through the balcony only buttress that. The tall windows of Elrond’s quarters are covered only in white silk, and the early morning easily surpasses them. Elrond finds himself glad of it: he’s grateful for the radiance that so beautifully highlights his lover’s face.

One of Elrond’s arms is still tossed around Lindir’s slender middle, and Elrond pulls him in closer to kiss his forehead. The scent of _heat_ has somewhat faded, masked now by something new, though Elrond doesn’t have the wherewithal yet to chase it. Lindir is considerably younger than him, and though Elrond was a virile warrior once, satiating his little songbird’s heats can be a draining experience. A wondrous, wholly pleasurable one, but trying, nonetheless. Elrond enjoys this gentle moment now, where Lindir makes no cries of fevered distress, and Elrond can simply _hold_ him, savouring all his beauty.

Then his own thirst stirs him, and he knows he must quench Lindir’s as well. An alpha’s primary duty is to care for their omega when they’re lost in heat. He always does his best, of course, but Lindir, normally so obedient and sweet, can become quite difficult when his mind is compromised—he’ll cling desperately to Elrond’s shoulder and refuse to let him go. Elrond had to have Erestor discreetly bring their meals and drink, but he never managed to give Lindir a much-needed bath—Lindir wouldn’t leave the nest. 

As Elrond detangles from his gorgeous omega, he doesn’t want to either. It feels _wrong_ to leave the haven Lindir so lovingly constructed for them, but Elrond tries to air for the practical rather than emotional. He forces himself to climb over the edge, set down on the other side, and pad towards the adjacent washroom. As naked as his lover, his skin prickles in the crisp air outside the nest. He splashes water on his face over the sink, knowing he’ll need a far deeper wash than that. Their sheets will need a thorough cleaning, as well as all the robes and blankets tossed about them. Lindir will probably see to it himself once he’s recovered, blushing furiously and refusing to let any other attend to them. And Elrond will smile fondly and let him. 

On Elrond’s way back to the bed, he collects the pitcher of clear water and two glasses from the table beside the door—Erestor must have had them delivered some time in the night. Elrond fills both at the nightstand, takes a single sip of his, then climbs back into the nest. 

He need only call Lindir’s name and perhaps give his shoulder a simple shake, but Elrond finds himself stretching out again anyway, where he can sidle back up to Lindir’s languid form. Lindir instantly latches onto him, creamy thighs parting around his leg and lithe stomach arching into his. Lindir sleepily nuzzles forward, slipping off his pillow and onto Elrond’s, while the wet lips between Lindir’s legs rub against Elrond’s thigh. He carefully shifts his own flaccid length away, knowing that if he gives in to pleasuring Lindir again now, Lindir will be impossible to hydrate until afterwards. So Elrond resists, even though his Lindir is so scrumptiously irresistible. He nuzzles into Lindir right back, murmuring, “Wake up, my love.”

Lindir makes a happy purring sound, turning into him. It exposes the lean line of Lindir’s neck, and Elrond can’t resist pressing into it, there where the smell of _pheromones_ is strongest, especially after so long without washing, and at the height of Lindir’s cycle. Except that the stench there isn’t the lingering fit of _heat_ he expects, but something new to Lindir’s delicate skin—something still _Lindir_ , but odd, and yet strangely familiar.

Elrond wraps an arm around Lindir’s body, gently pulling Lindir closer, and he ducks down to inhale deeply. It takes two more whiffs before he places it—and it shouldn’t even have taken that long, as he’s a healer, and he’s personally known this smell three times before.

He pulls back to brush back some of Lindir’s dark hair, cupping his cheek, and insisting, “Lindir, love, you must wake up now.”

Lindir’s lashes obediently flutter halfway up, and he gives Elrond a wide, sleep addled smile, then a kittenish yawn. When he’s finished, Elrond tilts Lindir’s face to look at him, and he holds Lindir’s chin there, commanding full attention. 

Perhaps there would be a more eloquent way to say it, a better situation to wait for, but Elrond can’t resist. He has to share his joy with Lindir immediately, and he whispers, “You are pregnant.”

For a split second, Lindir is still luxuriously lax in Elrond’s grip. But then his soft lips fall into a frown, and his eyes widen around the edges. The heat seems to die from them all at once, and his voice is more lucid than it’s been in days when he squeaks, “What?”

“You are with child,” Elrond informs him, then releases his face to reach down and touch his stomach, perfectly smooth and flat—for the moment. “I can smell it.”

Lindir doesn’t ask if Elrond’s sure, though disbelief still flitters across his features. Elrond’s delivered more little Elven children than Lindir’s ever known, and he knows well the workings of Elven bodies in all their many forms. Finally, Lindir’s gaze lowers between them, and his own shaking hand drops over Elrond’s. He quietly admits, “I was not sure if I could...” a small gulp, and he clarifies: “...with all the herbs I have taken for my transition, I feared...”

“They will not interfere,” Elrond promises. “This is the benefit of bonding with a healer; I know how to ensure your health, and that of our little one.”

Lindir’s enormous eyes return to Elrond’s face, and then he breathes, “I hope they look just like you.”

Elrond chuckles. As the shock slowly dissipates from Lindir’s fair features, reverence replaces it, then brimming happiness. His palm slips away from Elrond’s to tentatively touch his stomach, though there’s nothing to feel yet. The thought of it alone seems to bring a smile to Lindir’s lovely face. In that moment, despite all the weariness and stickiness and cloying warmth, Elrond feels like he’s never been more in love.

He can’t resist reaching out to kiss Lindir’s cheek. Lindir giggles happily, turning to give Elrond a proper kiss, and then they’re filling each other with tongue between their unstoppable grins. It takes some time for Elrond to be able to pry himself away, only long enough to roll onto his back and collect the second glass from the nightstand. He brings it across to Lindir, ordering, “Drink, now. Then you may rest a little more, and when you are ready, I will carry you to the bath and serve you breakfast on a tray.”

“I am recovered enough,” Lindir says between sips, although he always says that. “You are still my lord; _I_ should serve breakfast to _you_ —”

“But you will not today,” Elrond says with a note of finality, “Because you are my beloved partner, and the bearer of my child, and _at least_ until that child is born, you will have to get used to being waited on.”

Lindir’s mouth cutely twists, the way it does when he’s caught between attending Elrond and obeying him. Elrond kisses his forehead and repeats, “Drink.”

Lindir does. He finishes the entire glass, then slowly lies back down as Elrond puts the dish away. There’s a new glow to Lindir now—he doesn’t try to grind against Elrond any longer, but he does gravitate into Elrond’s arms when Elrond settles back down too. Lindir murmurs dizzily, “We should choose a name...”

But then he yawns again, and his eyes fall closed. Elrond pets him as he drifts back to sleep, smiling all the brighter.


End file.
